The Tuscan Mystery Trilogy

by Margaret Moore

“Yes”

  “What is his profession?” asked Di Girolamo, feeling wicked.

  “Er, well, he is with a firm that makes domestic appliances for Hotels and Restaurants.”

  “What exactly does his job entail?” He could hardly keep from smiling as he waited for an answer.

  “Well, he’s away three or four days a week.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Well, he is their representative.”

  “Oh, I see. You mean he’s a rep.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does a job like that pay well?”

  “Not too badly.”

  “But not enough to support you and the girls in a life of luxury, I would imagine.” he smiled encouragingly at her.

  “No, hardly that.”

  “So living here, I presume your mother paid for most things, if not for everything.”

  “Yes.” She added after a pause, “I have an allowance.”

  “Ah, so you did contribute towards the household expenses?”

  “No, that was for personal expenses.”

  “So you, too, had a lot to be grateful for, and you, too, milked your mother for all she was worth.” He knew it was a mistake, as soon as he said it.

  “How dare you. How dare you speak to me like that. Who do you think you are? I won’t tolerate this. I’m not staying here to be insulted.” She got up abruptly and ran from the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  They sat at a corner table well away from the other diners. The air conditioning made this a favourite restaurant. The Maresciallo had removed his cap and placed it on the empty seat behind him. He toyed with his ‘spaghetti alle vongole.’

  “Well, I agree that he lied, but that hardly makes him a murderer. People lie for many reasons, often because things slip their mind,” he said

  “I didn’t say I suspect him, yet, but look at it this way; he’s got Ambra pregnant, and her mother was against a marriage. She could have made life very difficult for them; she could have fired him, for example. Then it comes out that he was alone, near the house, well, certainly not where he said he was, at exactly the right time, so you must admit that it doesn’t look too good. We’ll have him down to the police station this afternoon.”

  “Yes, you’re right, but, my God, I’ve known the family for years, and I’m telling you, it’s impossible. He’s a good man.”

  “Let’s leave him for a moment. I wanted to talk to you about Emily. Is she as good as she pretends to be? She came over very ‘holier than thou’ and, quite frankly, I found her hard to stomach. Could she have killed her mother in a fit of madness, and then had that exaggerated reaction, which wasn’t grief, but remorse? That kind of behaviour denotes a certain instability. She was at the house at the right time. She told me so herself.”

  “Ask a psychiatrist.”

  “Maybe I will.” He chewed a forkful of pasta. “Then there’s Arturo. I haven’t seen him yet, but if she lied then so did he. He said that he and Emily were together all afternoon, and that they separated only when she left to go and make the tea and he went to his mother’s house. Now she says that she left him to go and get something from the house. Well, whilst he was alone, he could have slipped up to the pergola, and done it. It wouldn’t have taken long. Any bloodstains could easily have been washed off in the pool. What do you think?”

  “He's a possible, but he'd have had to be very quick. It would mean premeditation.”

  “Yes, it would. I must say, I’m looking forward to meeting the husband of someone like Emily. Everyone tells me he’s a nonentity. He doesn’t count. Now, we also know that he had had some kind of a disagreement with Diana. He wasn’t present at the dinner party, and normally not to attend would be considered high treason, so, if things had reached that state, then perhaps we have some kind of a motive.”

  “You’ll find some kind of a motive for all of them, but I reckon it’s going to be very tricky pinning this on someone. You need proof, and so far you have none.”

  “It will come. Now, let’s take Ambra. She’s pregnant, wants to marry her lover, and mother is putting her foot down, so all the reasons that apply to Riccardo, also apply to her and, what is more, she has no alibi at all!”

  His cell phone rang, and after grunting, “hmm, hmm,” a few times, he said “Thank-you doctor.” and hung up. The doctor says he’ll stick to two hours before he first examined the body, not too much leeway, at the most half an hour later, but not much before. So we have 3.00-3.45p.m as our probable time of death. That means, as we expected, Francesca was the last person to see her mother alive, at two o'clock, and he said that was definitely too early, because Diana had grabbed a sandwich at 1.45, so digestion would have only just started, if she had died then. That wasn’t the case. So Francesca looks a less probable suspect, unless she came away from the house she was looking at, which she could have done.” He took a sip of wine and thought for a moment,

  “Cosimo couldn't have done it unless he drove like a maniac, got here, rushed straight in and on the spur of the moment, grabbed the axe, which was handy. It doesn't make sense, and I don't honestly think he could have got here in time. Of course David D'Orso could have lied about the time he left Torre. See if you can find other witnesses to his departure.

  Now, let's take a look at the others. You say that Orlando has a sound alibi, so he’s out. I have yet to interview Chiara, who also had the opportunity, and we do not know whether she has an alibi for the time. As regards motive, her charming sister, Emily, hinted that Diana had not given consent to a scheme Chiara had for opening a riding school. So, we have another possibly resentful child.”

  “She would have to want the riding school an awful lot, to kill for it.”

  “People have killed for less. Spoilt brats have killed for the price of a football match ticket. Resentment, hatred and rage, can make murder easy. Sometimes it just happens and the young person is surprised. It is done in a moment and they wish they hadn’t done it, but it’s too late.”

  The waitress approached with a tray, removed the pasta plates, and set down a grilled turkey steak for the Maresciallo, and a sole for Di Girolamo. They both had a mixed salad.

  “What did the men find at the murder scene?”

  “Well we’ve got some footprints, they’ve taken impressions, and sent them off, and the soil embedded in the footprints has gone for testing too. There wasn’t much else. The prints were good though, as the ground was still damp. There had been a storm the night before if you remember, were you here?” He slipped the question in casually.

  “Yes I was.”

  The Maresciallo said inconsequentially, “She’s a nice woman.”

  “I agree.”

  “This is a small town. People talk.” He sounded pained.

  “I’m sure they do.” They ate in silence for a while.

  “Have the men started questioning the neighbours, as I requested?

  “Of course, all morning.”

  “And no one phoned in with any news,” asked Di Girolamo.

  “There wasn't any. It seems that everyone was having a siesta at that time of day. So no one saw anything. They’ll keep asking though, you never know.”

  “I’ve put out a nation-wide search for the youngest son, Angelo and expect results, on that, this afternoon. If they are negative, then we’ll be back here we started.”

  “Have you been in touch with the hospital, to find out about Chiara?”

  “Yes, they reckon she’ll be fine. She says she feels better already, but we have to wait the full forty-eight hours before we can speak to her.”

  “What about the musical director, Giorgio Paconi, the one who resigned before he got the sack? He was quick off the mark, offering his services to the family, this morning.”

  “No, his alibi holds, he was in the restaurant at the Albergo Tre Corone, lingering over his coffee until two-thirty, and then making numerous phone calls. No one saw him leave the hotel.”

  “Find out where he was
making the calls from, his room, or with his cell phone. Get records of all outgoing calls on both please.”

  Maresciallo Biagioni extracted a small notebook from his pocket, and scribbled some notes.

  They ordered coffee, and Di Girolamo said, “Look, I know this is a small town, and that you don’t like me sleeping at Hilary’s, but I’m not going to stop, just to please you and the local gossips.”

  “Is it serious?” asked Maresciallo Biagioni, hopefully.

  “Oh, come on.” He smiled, and said gently, “That’s my business.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that.”

  “No, but forget it. Let’s go. I want to see Riccardo Bertollini this afternoon, as soon as poss. So, get on to that please, and I think I’d like to see Arturo afterwards, but I’ll go up to the house for that. Then if there’s time, I’ll see Francesca, and Ambra. Could you phone, and say I’ll be there later, and ask those three to stay in, not that I think they’ll want to go out, there are journalists everywhere. They seem to be ready to jump out of the bushes whenever a car goes past, so I dread to think what they’d do to one of the family!”

  “There were a few television crews around earlier, as well”

  “You’ll become famous, Maresciallo. Put your cap on, and do your best to look remote, and unassailable.” They walked in step the short distance to the caserma, the local police station, ignoring the shouted requests for comments and information. Forests of microphones were held out towards them, like offerings. With one hand raised and a smile, Ruggero fobbed them off as he shook his head and said, “Later.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ambra put down the phone and shivered.

  “That was the police. They want me, Arturo and Francesca, to keep ourselves 'available' today, as they put it.”

  “Are they coming here again?” asked Cosimo

  “Yes, but that really is a blessing. I’d hate to have to go to them, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You should think yourselves bloody lucky to have them come here, instead of having to run the gauntlet of journalists, on your way down to the caserma. Just imagine seeing yourselves on the evening news!” boomed Miriam, who had invited herself and Mario to lunch. They were drinking coffee in the drawing room.

  “I’ll go and phone Arturo,” said Emily. The evening before, he had taken the girls to stay with his parents, until the investigation was over and life returned to normal, and had returned there now, to have lunch with them.

  “I’ll go down and tell Francesca,” said Ambra. Zoë and her mother had remained cloistered downstairs, not eating with the others.

  “Well, Cosimo,” said Miriam, “to go back to our conversation. What about it? Are you going to leave us in the hands of that bloody toad, or are you going to pull yourself together, roll up your sleeves and get on with it?”

  “Look when you asked me this morning, I said ‘no’, and I would really prefer not to. However, I have thought it over, and I suppose I ought to, I know, damn well, that’s what Madre would have wanted. It’s what we argued about, but, and there is a big but, I think the police may think I killed her, so it’s on the cards that they’ll arrest me.”

  “What rubbish, of course they won’t. Can you imagine anything more ridiculous, you aren’t capable of killing anything; you even put scorpions out in the garden, instead of stamping on them. Wasn’t it you who chased a snake around your bedroom till you caught it in a bottle and then freed it in the woods? Well, my dear boy, I say you could never do it, and you didn’t do it, so that’s that. I shall tell di Girolamo as much, too. So, you’re going to take over, and that really is splendid, my dear, because now, I can be as nasty as I choose to that wretched little buffoon, Giorgio. She gave a satisfied smile. “Mario, let’s go, and Cosimo, I’ll expect you to meet with the teachers this afternoon, at five, and get on the job tomorrow. We'd better schedule the meeting in the barn, away from the prying eyes of the television crews. I thought your sister could help you. She started yesterday with Diana, so she can carry on. It will be therapeutic, my dear, for both of you.”

  Cosimo and Mario helped her out of her chair and escorted her down to the car. Ambra was returning from Francesca’s flat, as they came out, and Miriam clasped her to her bosom once again, and kissed her soundly on both cheeks.

  “Don’t worry, my dear, Everything will be alright. Di Girolamo is a good man, the best, and he’ll sort this thing out. Your brother will tell you about the decisions we’ve made for the school, and you will do your bit. No weeping, and wringing of hands. Just get on with it, as your mother would have wanted. The school and the Festival were her ‘raison d’être’, as well you know.”

  Riccardo sat uncomfortably on a plastic and chrome chair. His legs were planted well apart and his large, unkempt hands were joined together, his wrists resting on his thighs. Although not really a youth, he did look quite young. He had a nice, clean, oval face, with regular features, a strong chin, large brown eyes and a mop of curly brown hair. He wore his gardening outfit; trousers with a bib and a tee shirt. He was still wearing a peaked cotton cap when he came in, but ripped it off, rammed it in his pocket, and ran a hand through his hair.

  Facing him, Di Girolamo lounged at ease behind a desk, wearing a beige linen suit, and a cream coloured shirt. He was revolving a pen between his slim fingers, occasionally tapping it on the notepad in front of him. His grey hair was beautifully cut, and his face was tanned. His blue eyes stared speculatively at the man sitting before him.

  “I am taping this interview,” he said calmly.

  The officer seated behind Riccardo, named those present and stated the time. Riccardo looked up, rather startled.

  “Would you like to tell me, exactly what your movements were yesterday afternoon?”

  “I have already said I was at the stables, shoeing the horse with the smithy, then working in the vegetable garden.”

  “That is all you did?”

  “Yes, as far as I can remember.”

  “Perhaps I can help you to remember, as you seem to have forgotten to mention something else you did.”

  “What!”

  “Isn’t it true, that at about three o’clock, you left the stables and went towards the Villa dei Fiori?”

  “Oh! yes of course I did! I had forgotten. I went up to the orchard to collect…”

  Di Girolamo interrupted him, “I think you went round to the pergola and murdered your employer.”

  “What! Are you mad? Of course I didn’t.”

  “Why not? Why not murder someone who was messing up your plans for a comfortable life? Someone who was opposed to your marriage to her daughter, who would no doubt bring pressure to bear on you, and make it impossible for you to marry the girl.”

  “I don’t believe this. Who told you all this, Emily?”

  “Listen to me. You deliberately got a young, inexperienced girl, pregnant, to force her mother’s hand, so you could marry her. You did this, to get your hands on her money; to set yourself up for life. Isn’t that true, Riccardo? And then what happened, eh? I bet Diana threatened to sack you, she wasn’t going to welcome you into the family, oh no, she was going to send you away, so… you killed her.” He almost shouted this last phrase, and Riccardo moved in his chair, as though restraining himself from violent action.

  “You’re wrong; it wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t kill her; I swear before God, that I didn’t kill her.” His voice broke.

  “How moving, and how predictable, ‘I swear before God.’ If you only knew how many times I’ve heard that phrase. Let me tell you, it means nothing, so let’s leave God out of it, shall we?”

  “I didn’t do it. You’re twisting everything. I love Ambra, and she loves me. I didn’t get her pregnant; she did it herself, she forgot to take the pill, that’s how it happened. It’s true that Diana didn’t want us to get married, I’ll admit that, but I didn’t kill her. And she was going to send me away, but I didn’t kill he
r for that either! I can get a job anywhere. I’m good at my job, and I’m respected. I’ll tell you something else. I am respectable. Ask anyone who knows me. I am not a delinquent, and I am not an assassin.”

  “But you are a liar. You are a liar!” shouted di Girolamo.

  “No, no, I just forgot to tell you. I was only away a minute, I went to fetch the….”

  “Axe. You got the axe and split her head open.”

  “No! Oh my God! Is that what happened? Who would do that to her? Dear God, how terrible. I didn’t know. I didn’t realise. Poor Ambra. Poor girl. She saw her, you know. The poor kid. She didn’t tell me that.” He hung his head so that Di Girolamo couldn’t see his face, and shook his head very slowly from side to side, muttering, “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe it.”

  “The axe had been wiped clean of fingerprints, but there was one which had survived this cleansing.” He paused, and Riccardo lifted his head and looked at him. “It was yours. It was your fingerprint.”

  “I used the axe that morning to chop branches off the cypress tree. Why would I clean fingerprints off an axe that it was perfectly legitimate for me to use?”

  “Why indeed?”

  “I don’t know, you seem to, why don’t you tell me? Or are you enjoying your cat and mouse game too much?” Riccardo spoke bitterly.

  “Watch how you speak to me.” Di Girolamo always kept a mental score, as though his interviews, (as he called them), were some kind of match. He now mentally awarded a point to his opponent.

  “I am sure you are intelligent enough to understand the double bluff theory, so I won’t elaborate. Listen Riccardo, I’ll tell you how things stand at the moment.” He numbered the points off on his fingers.

  “One: Your fingerprint is on the murder weapon;

  Two: You had a motive:

  Three: You lied about your whereabouts;

  Four: You were near the house at the time the murder could have been committed;

  Five: You knew the victim would be there;

  Six: You knew the murder weapon was there to hand; in fact you put it there for that purpose.